Page 25 of The Summer that Changed Everything

His smile faltered at her cool tone, but he soon rallied and nodded. “Sure.”

She held the door before pivoting away from him and going into the kitchen. “I have a bottle of wine,” she called back. “Are you interested?”

He didn’t answer. When she leaned around the corner to see why, she found him walking through the living room, examining the various knickknacks. “It’s sad to think Sharon Smoot may never return to this house,” he said when he noticed her.

“I’m still holding out hope.” She had no more room in her heart for sadness. She had to block out what she could to be able to move forward. Maybe once she got back to Vegas, she could allow herself to feel more empathy for poor Sharon. “Did you want a glass of wine?”

Finally drawn out of his preoccupation, he looked up. “Yes, please.”

She went back and opened the bottle of Chardonnay on the counter before carrying two glasses into the living room. She was about to set his on the side table and let him pick it up himself—she really didn’t want to get too close to him—but in three long strides he was towering over her. Suddenly she found herself looking up into his face again, and his startling, sea-green eyes were staring back at her.

Stepping away as soon as he accepted his glass, she cleared her throat. “So what did the Clarks have to say? Did they, by any chance, ask you to come over to see if you could talk me into leaving town?”

He flinched. “I’m not acting on their behalf, Lucy.”

“Then I’m not sure why you’re here,” she said.

“I wanted to apologize.”

“And you did.”

“I also wanted to offer you some support. I—I was your boyfriend when everything... came out about your father. I should’ve been better to you.”

She waved those words away. “Don’t be silly. None of that meant anything to me. We were just kids. Forget about it.”

He looked equal parts stricken and surprised. “O-kay,” he said, drawing the word out as if he didn’t really know how to respond.

“But thanks for making the effort.” She turned away so that he couldn’t see her face. “You mentioned Reggie...”

When he didn’t pick up the conversation, she turned back to face him and found his head bowed as he studied the rug.

“Ford?”

He looked up.

“What about Reggie?”

“He, um, called Patti as soon as you left his place and told her why you’re here.”

She thought about that for a moment, then shrugged. “I guess it doesn’t surprise me. He feels threatened, so he’s gathering his army.”

He took a sip of wine. “You accused him of lying on the stand?”

“Hewaslying,” she said.

“How do you know?”

“I know because my father didn’t kill Aurora.”

Ford appeared skeptical. “Can you really be that certain? It would be so easy for someone in your shoes to... to go into denial.”

“This isn’t about denial. I’m not denying my father killed the Matteos, am I?”

“Maybe he’s looking for attention,” he argued. “Murderers often try to remain relevant in some way.”

It was a possibility she had to consider. But her gut told her he was telling the truth. “Ford, I tried not to believe him—for fifteen years! But there’s something inside me that insists there’s more to the story.”

“Then you’re acting on intuition...”

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